


Just because it’s not right doesn’t mean it’s wrong

by elzed



Category: Friday Night Lights
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-17
Updated: 2007-04-17
Packaged: 2017-11-04 10:39:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/392934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elzed/pseuds/elzed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little MILF-y interlude from season 1...</p><p>Betaed by overnighter, who rocks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just because it’s not right doesn’t mean it’s wrong

Jackie’s elbow-deep in suds, scrubbing a stubborn pan and cursing her lack of dishwasher when she notices the rain gutter outside isn’t hanging loose anymore. Her first thought – unedited, raw – is of Tim Riggins on a ladder, maybe shirtless, wielding a hammer, looking hot. Her inner censor stamps on that pretty damn quick and swaps the forbidden lust for a dash of righteous anger. How dare he? She can look after herself. Or she could, if she only had the time.  
  
Under all that, she’s touched, a little grateful – and conscious that she’s acting like a bitch when she wakes him early by banging on his door just to ream him out and then guilt him into doing her another favor.

But it’s not like she could say no to her boss – and besides, Bo adores Tim. She just hopes he turns up sober at school pickup time. _Beggars can’t be choosers_ runs like a mantra through her head all the way to work.

************

The sight of them playing together outside the house when she pulls up to the curb makes her smile, and deep down, Jackie breathes a sigh of relief. Much as she trusts Tim – and she wouldn’t really be able to explain why that is – she’s also figured out he’s not known as Dillon’s Mr. Reliable. And then Bo starts punching Tim’s outstretched palms – _right, left, right, right_ – and her righteous anger returns tenfold.

How _dare_ he?

But somehow he manages to defuse the situation again.

Jackie isn’t sure whether it’s his directness – hey, _he_ used to be a bully, he knows the score; and Bo’s small for his age so this is survival – or just his effortless charm, because as much as she tries she can’t ignore the fact that her neighbor looks like a fallen angel with the body of a Greek god. Internal Censor be damned.

Obviously, that’s not why she invites him over to watch _Back to the Future_ that evening with Bo. Or why she allows herself to fall asleep on his broad, muscular shoulder until he moves and she slips down onto the couch, only to wake up bleary-eyed in time to see Tim carrying Bo back to bed. For a few seconds, she drinks it in, allowing her sleepy mind to make all kinds of inappropriate connections and fantasies.

She shouldn’t have, though, because when he comes back he gets the vibe, and as they stand in the hallway, preparing to say goodbye, Tim clearly sees _something_ in her that makes him step forward and…

Oh God. _Oh my God._

It lasts maybe a couple of seconds at most, the feel of his lips, soft and warm and demanding on hers, the light touch of his fingers on her neck, the merest swipe of his tongue into her mouth, triggering the most incredible rush of desire until she slams it all down with a superhuman effort of will and pulls away.

_No!_ she commands her weak body, when every cell begs _Yes._

Thank God her move was enough, and Tim gets the message instantly, backing away and apologizing for misreading the signals. _You didn’t,_ she wants to say, but she has that much self-control, at least.

“What’re you doing?” she cries out. “You’re a kid!”

Not that she reacts to him like a kid, with his manly football player’s frame towering over her, but she’s not stupid enough to take that into account. Or so she hopes. After all, she _is_ old enough – barely -- to be his mom; and he’s way closer in age to Bo than he is to her, which makes her feel slightly sick.

“Go home! Tim, you need to go home,” she says, as steadily as she can when her heart is beating a crazy tattoo, and she’s so glad he follows suit in a flurry of apologies and raised hands because she doesn’t know what she would’ve done if he’d insisted.

Last thing she hears him say before the door slams is “Yes ma’am” and it brings home how inappropriate and _wrong_ this is.

She spends half the night curled up on the couch desperately trying to unravel how it all happened, and whether she’s been kidding herself all along about indulging Bo’s hero-worship. Try as she might, she can’t rid herself of the memory of Tim’s warm body next to hers, solid and comforting, of his mouth against hers, of the immediate response his touch evoked. It’s been hours and she’s still aroused, knows that if she touched herself she’d come in seconds.

She is _not_ even going to try. Goddammit, she _cannot_ be falling for her seventeen-year-old neighbor, no matter how hot.

Fuck Hank – he really messed up with her head. She used to be better than that.

************

 

Sleep is elusive at first, and then dangerous, which she realizes when she wakes with a start a couple of hours later, her brain on fire with images of Tim Riggins and her hand clamped between her legs. Gray light filters through the flimsy curtains, and somehow the whole incident seems tawdrier and even less excusable in the cold light of dawn.

Breakfast is rushed – Bo still excited about Tim picking him up from school, and teaching him to fight, and talking about nothing else. It’s “Tim Riggins says I’ve got to defend myself!” and “Can Tim Riggins come and watch _The Incredibles_ tonight?” and “When is Tim Riggins picking me up from school again?” until Jackie finally snaps at him.

The mood in the car is sullen as she drops him off at school and she tells herself she’ll make it up to Bo that night, except for the absence of Tim Riggins. She can’t possibly invite him around again. Ever.

She just doesn’t know how to break that to Bo.

It turns out that evening that Tim’s nowhere to be seen, which makes it way easier. Early the next morning she takes Bo to piano practice – part of his Saturday routine now, which today includes a playdate after with one of his school friends, little Johnny. Jackie has high hopes that eventually, her son will get other playmates besides Tim Riggins.

Coming back home she notices Tim’s truck is still missing, wonders if he’s been out all night getting drunk, maybe getting laid after she turned him down. She’s surprised to find out that the thought of some ditzy sixteen-year-old blonde cheerleader making out with Tim – don’t they all put out for the star jocks? – makes her seethe.

Oh dear God. This is getting worse. She’s got to do something about this now, nip it in the bud before it gets out of control. Maybe it’s already too late.

She’s lost in her thoughts when his ancient truck pulls up and Tim walks out, sits next to her on the bench where she’s been mulling it over, and apologizes again, sweetly, with one of his slow smiles. He smells of booze and sweat and boy, and she tries not to inhale too deeply, resists the urge to bury her nose in his collar. No scent of sex there, and for that she’s pathetically grateful.

When he stands up to leave, she looks at him and smiles. It takes everything she has to stop herself reaching out and touching him, but she makes it.

This time.

************

Staving off Bo takes a lot of effort, but after one evening at the movies and another at the Alamo Freeze, the lack of Tim Riggins is the source of much whining. Thankfully, Tim’s made himself scarce recently – probably practicing for Friday’s big game, as Jackie’s been telling Bo.

“So why don’t we go and watch him at practice, mom?” Bo says with the eagerness of his nine years, his face hopeful.

She closes her eyes. If there’s anything more likely to feed her obsession than watching the object of her lust running around in tight football pants getting sweaty, she can’t imagine what that is.

“I don’t think so, honey. Mama has work to do. Tell you what, I’ll let you watch cartoons after you do your homework – do we have a deal?”

“But I want to see Tim Riggins, mom! He’s teaching me to throw the ball and I’ve been practicing and I can throw a spiral now, and I have to show him!”

He’s relentless in his enthusiasm, and Jackie knows from experience that he’s likely to wear her out.

“I don’t think so, Bo.”

But her determination is instantly undermined by the low rumble heralding the arrival of Tim’s truck, and her son’s gleeful cry.

To his credit, Tim looks more than a little sheepish as he slams the pickup door shut while trying to fend off Bo with one arm. But when the football is thrust in his face he grimaces and takes it.

“Okay, little man. Let’s play some ball.”

He throws Jackie a half-apologetic glance over his shoulder, and she shrugs back, because there really isn’t much either of them can do. And Bo wouldn’t understand why Tim’s no longer welcome for dinner, so she makes sure she cooks enough pasta for an army before calling the boys in for dinner.

So much for trying to keep her distance.

Of course, the problem is that the whole sexual tension thing is still very much there, at least for her. When Tim carries the dirty dishes from the table into the kitchen, she has to maneuver around him to reach the fridge, and it’s like she’s reverted to a gawky teenager. She doesn’t know where to put her legs, her arms, tries to avoid touching him, fails, flails.

“Sorry!” she squeaks, backing off as if she’d burned her hand when she brushed against him. Truth is, she can still feel the heat of his body against her palm. And she’s pretty sure he flinched. In any case, he beats a hasty retreat back to the table, and his cheeks look flushed. Silently, she thanks the heavens Bo’s still such a kid and unlikely to notice any of this.

Tim leaves shortly after, claiming an early practice, and Bo waves him away enthusiastically before devouring the leftover ice cream. One thing’s for sure, all this new exercise has given him such an appetite Jackie hopes he’s finally going to hit that growth spurt she’s been waiting for the past couple of years. One thing Tim’s good for, at any rate.

Between the two of them, she and Tim manage to avoid seeing too much of each other for the next few days. Bo gets to play ball, but later, Tim goes to the gym, or to football practice, or hangs out with the guys. He comes by for dinner a couple of times, leaves early, never stays for a movie.

Even then, it’s touch and go, like when she catches him looking at her ass and he gives her a wolfish grin that makes her nipples go hard before she breaks eye contact. Or when their fingers touch as she passes him a dish at dinner, and she almost drops the meatloaf on the new blue and gold rug Bo made her buy – “Panther colors, Mom!” – against her better judgment.

She catches herself inhaling his scent, and reacting to it like a bitch in heat – it drives her crazy that this kid has tapped into her inner teenager and sent her back to the world of adolescent crushes. It’s like she’s fifteen, sixteen again, tailing after the cute boys at school, desperate for attention, giddy when she got a smile. The kind of attitude that led her to lose her virginity to her on again-off again boyfriend Scott at her junior prom, in the backseat of his Mom’s Oldsmobile, and regret it almost instantly as he came in thirty seconds and then failed to get her off with clumsy half-hearted fingers.

God knows she doesn’t miss those years, when she was boy-crazy and easily heartbroken, and the combination of her inexperience and their incompetence meant she wandered around in a haze of perpetual sexual frustration. Then again, _that_ hasn’t changed so much.

She’s not Superwoman, though, and after resisting valiantly for several nights, she finally gives in to the fantasies that crowd her brain and her dreams. Lying on her bed, eyes closed, she imagines Tim standing over her, stripping off his T-shirt slowly to reveal the six-pack she’s glimpsed when he’s horsing around with Bo, muscles rippling under the skin. He’s so damn _ripped_ , it’s unfair.

Her hand slides down her stomach, ghosting over the fabric of her panties as she wills the fantasy further – Tim’s hand mirroring her actions on his own hard body, his fingers skimming the erection barely contained in his loose sweats, finally pushing the waistband down to reveal his engorged cock, as her fingers touch her clit, tentatively at first, then more assuredly.

Their eyes lock, because in her fantasies she’s bold and wild and more than a little bit of an exhibitionist. She’s so aroused she comes in only a few strokes with a muffled whimper, hips rising off the mattress, the release flooding through her.

The next morning when she runs into Tim on her way to school she can’t look him in the eye, but that night, again, she masturbates to the thought of his mouth on her, his fingers in her, his cock swelling against her flesh, and it’s his name she moans when she comes.

She wonders whether he does the same in his room, touches himself while thinking of her, and that idea alone makes her wet again.

************

The night the Panthers make it to the finals, there’s another party at the Riggins house, and this time Jackie goes over for a quick visit after putting Bo to bed. He’s worn himself out cheering the team on, and although she feels guilty, she also wants to share in the celebratory mood. It’s close enough that she can see his bedroom window from their house, and she promises herself she’ll check on him every fifteen minutes.

Billy’s the one who opens the door, shit-eating grin plastered on his face, and he thrusts a beer into her hand.

“C’mon in, join the party!” he hollers, and the joint is hopping, with what looks like most of the underage drinkers in town crammed in the Riggins’ living room, beer cans and bottles spread over every surface.

There’s a fair sprinkling of older guys – former football players, some of them run to fat; a few drinking buddies of Billy’s, faces she’s seen at Applebee’s or at the Alamo Freeze. Sometimes it scares her how small this town is, how everybody knows everybody else’s business. For instance, she’s never set foot in the Landing Strip, but she knows the brunette with the denim cutoffs standing by the pool works there, as does the pretty black girl Billy’s cornered by the stove.

It also means that she knows enough people by sight to chat easily, all the more so after another beer, and she even indulges in some post-game analysis with a young couple not long out of high school themselves, she gauges, the boy passionate and serious, his girlfriend nodding earnestly at his side.

There’s one person missing in the crowd, but she’s deliberately not looking out for him – besides, there’s no way that Tim’s not somewhere at his own party. Instead, she lets herself be talked into a couple of tequila shots by an excitable red-headed kid in a Panther Football sweatshirt who might be on the team; she’s not sure. The alcohol burns as it slips down her throat, and the taste – the taste sends her back a decade or so, back when doing shots at a party was the routine, not the exception.

Spurred by the tequila, she makes a quick surveillance visit to the outside of her house, where she peers through the curtains at Bo’s reclining form before returning to the Riggins’ kitchen. She spots Tim in the backyard, perched on the edge of the pool, handing beer bottles to passers-by, playing the host.

She doesn’t feel out of place, exactly, but she’s older and quieter than most of the crowd here – she used to be a wild child, but that was a long time ago, or at least that’s what it feels like. Life before Bo’s like a distant dream, the details fuzzy. Not that she’d trade back for anything.

Still, it makes a nice change to be out drinking at a party, even if it means fending off the clumsy overtures of a former running back for the Panthers (it’s getting to be a habit) who’s trying to impress her with tales of his past days on the field.

“See, darlin’, those were the glory days of the Panthers, when we _earned_ this,” he says, flourishing his championship ring. “These kids, now? They’re all right, they’re doin’ all right, but they’re just following in our footsteps. We blazed a trail for them to follow, know what I mean? We were the trailblazers.”

Jackie nods, a smile plastered to her face. She wouldn’t mind so much, but the guy – Danny? Darren? Shows how much she’s been paying attention – keeps touching her arm when he talks to her, and it’s beginning to grate.

Then he crosses the line from annoying to offensive when his other hand “accidentally” grazes her ass picking up the beer from the table behind her. _And_ putting it back down.

Jackie’s just trying out a few choice phrases in her head when Tim appears in her field of vision. There’s a blonde girl next to him, tall enough that they’re almost shoulder to shoulder, and the way he leans into her makes Jackie’s stomach lurch, a sour taste rising in her throat. Their body language speaks of the casual intimacy of longstanding couples, the physical closeness born of sex. As if that weren’t enough, the smile on Tim’s face is one she recognizes – that slow curve of the lips that lights his face up – because he’s directed it often enough at _her_.

She bites back the putdown she was framing and tries to appraise her would-be suitor fairly. He’s not bad-looking, a little heavy around the jowls – especially considering he’s only about 25 – but with nice eyes. Not a patch on Tim Riggins, but then apparently Tim has better things to do than talk to his middle-aged neighbor when there are hot chicks around.

Jackie takes a deep breath.

“So, Danny, what do you do now?” she asks, turning on the Southern belle charm her mama drilled into her from her earliest childhood. “And do you still play at all?”

Danny – apparently she got it right – laughs, a great rumble of a belly laugh that makes her impulsively decide she actually quite likes him despite the ass-grazes.

“Naw, I gave up playing a while ago – busted my knee in junior year and dropped out of college.”

“Ouch – that sounds bad,” Jackie ventures, grimacing.

“Hey, it wasn’t so bad – I was never going to make it in the bigs. Came back here and went into business with my brother. You should come see us next time you need an oil change – we’ll do you a deal.”

“Maybe I will. Sounds like too good an offer to pass up,” she says, half-joking, and he immediately starts digging in his pocket and hands her a creased business card with a Panthers’ logo which reads _Danny Foley, Foley’s Automotive Repairs, No Job Too Small, 5055 E 32nd St, Dillon, TX._ She finds herself staring at it with almost zen-like detachment, until she’s jolted out of it by a familiar voice behind her.

“You hitting on my neighbor, Foley?”

“Hey Rig!” Danny bellows, a grin blossoming on his face. “You boys done good tonight! Now if you can keep it up for one more game, y’all might just match our great achievements.”

“Sure thing, Foley, sure thing. Just you watch us,” Tim says, his voice easy.

Jackie resists the urge to turn around, but she can’t help notice that the leggy blonde is no longer around. And then his hand lands on her shoulder, gives her a tiny squeeze, and her brain scatters.

“You okay?” he says, so close she can feel his warm breath on her neck and the attendant shiver of desire that runs down her spine.

She nods, her mouth uncooperative. Maybe she shouldn’t try to talk just now.

“Can I get you anything? Another beer?”

He’s holding a couple in his left hand, lifts them for her inspection, and how can she say no? She nods, and he lets go of her shoulder to twist a cap off and pass her the bottle. She takes a couple of long swallows. Maybe now she’ll be able to talk again.

“Bo asleep?” he asks, quietly, and Jackie bites her lip. Shit. It’s been at least half an hour since she last looked in on him, maybe more.

“I should go check on him. I didn’t realize it was so late…”

“Hey, calm down. I was outside and I promise there’s nothing happening in your house, okay? You take it easy, I can go and check on him.”

He looks so earnest, so concerned for her welfare, that Jackie wants to hug him.

“It’s all right – I’ve got it,” she breathes out, and driven by maternal guilt, she shoulders her way through the drunken crowd, out the door and past the stragglers to her front door.

Inside, it’s as quiet as a house can be next door to a Riggins party but the music doesn’t reverberate like it did that first time she met Tim. The brothers may be drinkers who like a rowdy party, but they both remembered to keep the sound marginally in check this time, even though it would take a nuclear explosion to wake Bo at this point.

He’s sleeping peacefully, curled up under his comforter, mop of blond hair sticking out, and even with the steady beat of the bass floating over, she can hear his soft snores. A kiss on the head and she’s done, pulling the curtains apart just enough that she can peak from outside if she wants to, tiptoeing out.

When she opens the front door again, she almost walks into Tim leaning against the frame like he’s standing guard, bottle loosely held between thumb and forefinger, looking so casually sexy it ought to be a sin.

“What the hell?”

“I just wanted to make sure everything was cool,” he rumbles.

The beer and tequila – more than she’s drunk in a while – combine to make her feel lightheaded, and there’s an added languor in her body that she attributes to his presence.

“Everthing’s fine, Tim, thanks,” she says briskly, or she tries to, because brisk seems to have fallen out of her repertoire and instead she’s breathy and flustered.

They’re both still standing in the dark rectangle of the front door, lights off behind her in the house except the nightlight outside Bo’s bedroom, and now Tim’s flashing _her_ one of those slow-burn smiles and oh, _God,_ she’s back in boy-crazy land, butterflies in her stomach, weak knees and all.

She’s shivering like a thoroughbred even before Tim reaches out to her, his fingers brushing against hers, closing over them, starting a trail of fire that ignites all her nerve endings as it travels through her body. All the effort she exerted in the past few days, her determination not to give in to her animal instincts, all of it melts away in a fog of lust. She doesn’t have the strength, or the willpower, to do anything but back into the house slowly.

His eyes are searching hers, looking for assent, wary. Jackie knows he’s thinking of her rejection last time, yet she can’t bring herself to be that explicit because there’s too much guilt involved – and the knowledge, deep down, that she really shouldn’t be doing this. But her scruples are no match for her hormones and she takes a step back, then another, until Tim is inside her house.

“Jackie,” he whispers, and she raises a finger to his mouth, its tip tracing the outline of his full lower lip.

“Shhh.”

There’s a hint of hesitation in his green eyes, barely visible in the dim light coming in from the street, and then he grins again and captures her finger in his mouth, fumbling briefly behind him to close the front door. Abruptly, they’re in the dark, with only the faintest glimmer coming through the lowered blind. Jackie’s still adjusting when Tim moves in, one hand wrapping around her hip, and his mouth latches onto hers.

This time she gives into the kiss, parts her lips and allows his tongue in, and .02 seconds later he’s spun her around so her back’s to the wall and she’s whimpering in his mouth. He kisses hot and dirty, just like she knew he would only better, teeth nipping at her lips, and his hands are roaming up her body. When he presses his erection into her midriff – he’s so much taller than her it’s almost funny – she feels her knees turn to jelly.

They can barely see each other in the semi-darkness, and this adds to the excitement. Her other senses come to the fore to compensate, and she experiences him through every pore in her body, tasting his kisses, inhaling his teenage-boy scent, blossoming under his touch. She’d never have thought Tim’s hands could be so light on her, as he brushes both thumbs on her erect nipples through her top, teasing them into further arousal. At the same time, his knee is parting her legs, applying delicious pressure, and suddenly he grabs her ass and hoists her up until he can press his hard-on against her throbbing sex. She’s got one leg wrapped around his back, her other foot is just touching the floor, and Tim’s carrying most of her weight.

Oh God. _God._ They’re dry humping now against the wall, and Jackie thinks she might just come from the friction, because she is _so_ horny she can’t control herself. Her head’s is flung back and he’s licking and sucking his way down her neck, hitting all her hotspots, behind her ear, on the cusp of her jaw, the juncture with her shoulder, and she’s moaning softly _(not thinking about Bo, Bo sleeps like a log, don’t think about Bo)_ when suddenly Tim stops. He’s panting in her neck, his breath labored, and Jackie feels disoriented.

“You okay?”

He snorts and nods once.

“Yeah, I’m just, you know… don’t wanna…”

“Oh. _Oh._ No. Of course.”

She feels the urge to giggle, tries to hold back – she doesn’t want him to be offended – but it’s been so long since she’s been even close to making a guy come in his pants that she lets a hiccup escape.

“Are you _laughing_ at me?” he says, mock-offended.

Jackie shakes her head but the giggles are rising again.

“You think it’s easy, with a girl as hot as you,” he says, thrusting his hips just a little so she can feel how hard he is, “for a guy to hold back?”

“N-nuh-uh”, she manages, still struggling to keep a straight face.

“Yeah? Especially when I’ve been thinking about this, _wanting_ this for the past couple weeks?”

His voice has dropped even lower than usual and it really is _doing_ things to her. She lets out a shuddering breath. Not laughing anymore.

“I’ve jerked off to you every night,” he growls, his mouth against the shell of her ear, and he rocks into her again and she lets out an involuntary moan because, Jesus, she’s never been so turned on in her whole life. “What about you? Ever think of _me_ when you touch yourself?”

He sounds so _dirty,_ and she can feel herself blushing as she whispers: “Yes” into his shoulder.

Next thing she knows his mouth is on hers again and he’s kissing her like a man possessed. He’s released her – she’s standing on both feet now – and they’re feverishly clawing at each other’s clothing. Under the T-shirt she gets rid of, his skin is hot and his muscles so well-defined she can trace them with fingertips. Tim’s cradling her neck with one hand, pulling her into his kiss, all the while unzipping her pants skillfully with the other and pushing them down.

When he slips his hand into her underwear, touches her sex, time stands still and her whole focus shifts to that one point of contact, his blunt fingers pulling aside her lace panties, the soaked fabric clinging to her skin _(oh Jesus, she’s so wet she feels ashamed)_ , and the slow, deliberate push of those fingers into her, slick and wet and hot, again and again in a lazy deep rhythm, his thumb pressing on her clit until the first stirrings of her approaching orgasm shatter her concentration and she lets out a long trembling moan.

“Look at me,” he rasps, fingers curling into her, and suddenly the ripples coalesce in one huge wave of pleasure that sweeps everything away with it and she loses it _completely;_ tensing and releasing into his arms, groaning her pleasure like a wild animal, under his watchful hungry gaze.

“Christ, Jackie, you’re so fucking hot,” he mumbles into her neck as she sags against him, drained. She can’t quite believe how intense this all is, or how this _kid_ knows her body better even than she does, because she’s rarely come that quickly on her own, never mind that hard.

Her heartbeat’s returning to normal and she realizes that Tim is patiently waiting, head still buried in her neck, his hand cupping her sex gently, but against her hip his cock is ramrod hard and _wanting,_ and she hasn’t even touched him yet.

So she snakes a hand down and strokes its length through his jeans, and his sharp intake of breath is followed by a muted groan. It takes a little effort to undo his button fly one-handed but the reward is worth it. Velvet soft skin sliding under her fingers, so hard she can feel his heartbeat pulsing in her hand, and bigger than she expected when she wraps her palm around him, enough to make her crave him inside her.

_No shame in shared desire._ No shame, and no restraint, either. She remembers, in a distant past, worrying about _this_ , about them; right now, though, all she can focus on is whether they can risk having sex here in the open living room, or should go to her bedroom, which has a lock but is a lot closer to where Bo’s sleeping.

Tim’s braced himself against the wall and he’s thrusting into her fist, shallow strokes, silent, breathing heavily, and she could just bring him off here and now, but since Jackie’s going to wake up tomorrow feeling hungover and guilty anyhow, it might as well be for a good reason. And God help her, but she _really_ wants to sleep with Tim Riggins.

It’s time to make a decision and she does, slackening the rhythm and loosening her grip. Almost immediately, he pushes off the wall and looks at her, eyes glinting in the dim light.

“What’s up?” he asks, his tone uncertain.

“Come with me. And don’t make _any_ noise.”

She gathers the clothes on the floor rapidly, just in case, before heading for her bedroom.

For such a big guy he can move surprisingly quietly, padding behind her across the living room and past Bo’s room (silent but for the occasional snore) into her inner sanctum.

She locks the door carefully before turning to face Tim, who’s standing unselfconsciously in the middle of the bedroom despite his prominent erection. There’s a little more light in here, spilling in through the open window along with the noise of the party, and she can see him better, so she allows herself a moment to take in his toned athlete’s body, all ridged muscles and chiseled abs and that proud hungry cock pointing at her. Then she reaches over and shuts the window – mindful of any noise that might betray them.

He’s staring back at her through the shaggy curtain of his hair, at her breasts, her erect nipples barely contained by her thin lace bra; trailing his gaze down her belly to the tidy trimmed triangle of her pubic hair, her swollen labia glistening with the evidence of her arousal. It’s an intensely erotic moment and Jackie’s secretly glad it’s happening in this half-light, the darkness a cover for those small imperfections and indignities brought by age that she’s not sure a seventeen-year-old would understand. But she’s trying not to think of it because it reminds her why she shouldn’t be doing this in the first place. She’s never had much control at the best of times – let alone now, when she’s drunk, lonely, and head over heels in lust.

Neither of them moves for a few heartbeats – they’re caught in the intensity of the moment, frozen on the edge of action; until Tim breaks the spell by leaning into her, and she mirrors his move, their mouths meeting in a slow kiss. He pulls her against him and she wraps her arms around his neck, and the passion flares all over again, and within seconds they’ve fallen onto the bed in a tangled mass of limbs.

His mouth is on her throat and his hands are everywhere, God, making short work of her bra and what remains of her clothes, and _touching_ her, leaving a trail of goose bumps behind. She arches under his touch like a cat in heat, until she can’t bear it anymore and reaches for him. She starts with a single finger running up and down the length of his cock, then two, then more, keeping it to fingertips and light touches that make him shiver.

“Oh, fuck,” he says, biting his lip, and then, his voice rough, “I want to fuck you. I _really_ want to fuck you. Please?” and she laughs because it’s not like she’s going to turn him down, no risk of _that_ , but she loves that even in bed, he remembers his manners.

Only he better have protection, since she hasn’t kept condoms in her bedside table for a while, and she’s not taking any chances.

“Okay,” she whispers, and his head snaps up.

He’s looking at her with a wicked grin straight out of the Tim Riggins School of Charm, before dipping down and kissing her thoroughly, one of those kisses that leaves her breathless and on fire, nerve endings tingling and ready for him, oh, so ready.

He’s still half-wearing his jeans, and his boots, and when he pulls away he almost falls off the bed in his haste to get rid of them. But he does fish out a foil packet from one of his pockets before discarding the pants, she notes with relief. Then he’s back over her, tearing the wrapper with his teeth and sheathing himself with practiced ease before nudging his way between her parted legs and into her, in one long deep thrust that makes her gasp. It hurts slightly, stretching her wide, but she’s so wet he slides right in and scatters what’s left of her conscious brain to the four winds.

He pulls out, pushes back in slowly, his pelvis pressing against her each time and she digs her nails into his shoulder, wraps her legs around his hips and counterthrusts, her hips rising towards his. The friction is intense on her sensitive clit, a little _too_ raw, and she wiggles around until his angle shifts. Now she’s taking him in even deeper and he’s hitting a spot inside with each long slow stroke that makes her whimper – _holy hell how can he be seventeen and fuck like this_ – and the pain is replaced by a tide of rising pleasure as her orgasm starts to build up.

Tim’s panting above her, forearms braced either side of her head, concentration etched on his face, sweat dripping down his hair into her eyes, which ought to be gross, but is somehow hot. Their bodies are entwined, rocking into each other, and the relentless pounding is driving Jackie closer and closer to climax, her whole being pulsing to the rhythm of her engorged cunt. She’s teetering on the edge of the cliff and when she tips over into ecstasy she cries out and bites his shoulder, hard, to muffle the sound while he continues to fuck her through every spasm of her orgasm, until she’s a quivering moaning mess and Tim comes with a groan and collapses on top of her, still throbbing inside her, heart beating wildly against her chest, his muscles trembling with the effort.

“Oh my God,” she whispers shakily. “Oh. My. God.” She’s struggling to draw breath under his weight – not that she wants him to move, yet. Tim’s face down against her shoulder, hot breath on her skin, and he’s mumbling something indistinct.

“What?”

He raises his head, flicks the damp hair out of his face.

“Just call me Tim.”

He looks beautiful, flushed and sweaty, his green eyes shining, and Jackie gets a pang of longing, because in her heart she knows that this won’t last and she’s bound to regret it. She’s already thinking there’s no way this can happen when Bo’s around – no way he can ever know. She’s hoping Tim won’t make it harder, pretend it’s for real – she’s seen how he enjoys hanging out with them like they’re some kind of family. Part of her is desperately wishing she hadn’t given in and slept with him, but compared to the sexually satisfied, smug part that’s currently running the show it barely registers on her radar.

Besides, she can’t fight chemistry. Or she won’t. Whatever.

“Well _someone_ has a high opinion of his abilities,” she counters, smirking back. She won’t add that it is, in fact, pretty much justified because, well, she doesn’t want it to go to his head.

He shoots her a mock-wounded look.

“I mean, not that you weren’t… fun…”she says, playing it coy.

“Fun?” He raises an eyebrow. “ _Fun?_ ”

She shrugs.

“Right. Gimme… five minutes,” he says, sounding sleazy, and she remembers with a jolt what it’s like to sleep with a teenager, not that the teenagers she slept with when she was his age were anything like Tim Riggins. In any way, shape or form.

Tempting. But this time her brain is thinking a little more clearly, and she doesn’t want to push her luck with Bo and everything else. She shakes her head.

“Nuh-uh. You’ve got to go back to your party, Tim, and I should go to bed – Bo’ll be up by six and wanting breakfast.” She pauses. “Also… I don’t know what you think, but I guess it’s best if we keep this quiet, okay?”

Sometimes it’s really hard to read Tim – he might be just processing what she said, or he might be hurt, but he’s got this blank look on his face, just staring at her for a while before nodding and dropping his gaze.

“Sure. So I’ll be seeing you around, yeah?”

She still can’t tell what he’s thinking as she watches him stand up and stretch – God, his _body_ – before picking up his clothes from the floor and slowly getting dressed. That reverse striptease is strangely compelling and erotic, as she follows his every move: the way he pulls his jeans up his long legs, how easily he shrugs his shirt on, buttoning it up halfway, until he’s fully clothed and looking down at her, sprawled naked and sweaty on her bed.

“You sure you don’t want another go?” he says, leaning over her, and this time there’s a smile in his eyes, which makes her feel better.

She’s about to say no again when he kisses her and steals the breath off her, that easy. Just as she can feel her resolve beginning to slip, the heat rising in her, he breaks it off and straightens up again.

“I’m going. Billy’s probably passed out on the floor somewhere already, and someone’s got to keep the animals from tearing the place apart.”

Jackie closes her eyes. She has to say something.

“Tim, I… When I said keeping this quiet, I meant I really don’t want Bo to get hurt, okay? I just want you to know – it’s not about you, it’s about him.”

Which is not strictly true, because she also very much does _not_ want all of Dillon knowing she’s sleeping with her hot high school neighbor.

Tim nods again.

“I don’t want him to know anything. I don’t want him thinking… you know, that you’re his new daddy or whatever. He’s had a hard time with his real dad, and with Hank it wasn’t easy, and…” She’s losing momentum, searching for words of reassurance. “Look, I’m sorry if I sound harsh – I don’t mean to.”

“Okay.”

God, if you looked up laconic in the dictionary, you’d probably find a picture of Tim Riggins.

“It doesn’t mean we can’t hang out– it just means that if anything like this happens again, it’s got to be when he’s not around. And… it shouldn’t change things, you know? We’re still friends, right?” _Like, not a couple, Tim, just friends._

Why she feels the need to say all this now she doesn’t know – it’s sounding way too serious for post-sex talk, but she’s trying to deal with the guilt swamping her. Or maybe she’s just trying not to hurt Tim, but it might be too late for that. He’s got that look on his face again, the one she can’t read.

“Sure we are.”

He’s turning towards the door, about to walk out, when she gets up, wraps her arms around his waist and lays her cheek on his back, soaking in the warmth.

“G’night, Tim,” she whispers against his checkered shirt. “And I lied. It was more than fun.”

************

 

When he’s gone, front door closing noiselessly behind him, Jackie lies back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to make sense of what just happened, and exactly how stupid she’s being. Not just because of Bo, either.

She’s spent all this time thinking about the age difference, but hasn’t been paying much attention to the fact that it’s not just about the sex. Tim’s a _kid,_ too, like Bo, even if she treats him like a young man. He’s probably more easily hurt than he shows, and for all his easy flirty behavior with women, she bets he needs a mom sometimes, and there’s no evidence of one in his life or Billy’s. Jackie’s never dared to ask what happened to their parents, but she gets the impression Billy’s been bringing up Tim on his own for a while now.

The thought saddens her, makes her feel even guiltier. Maybe all he wants is a family, but the only way he knows to relate to women is with sex (not like she hasn’t fallen into that trap with men before). Maybe she’s just being selfish. Maybe it’s too late anyhow, and if she tries to end it he’ll feel even worse.

She spends a while making a list of resolutions, promising herself she won’t let it happen again, that she’ll make it up to him, and she’ll be a better mom to Bo, a better friend to Tim, a decent upstanding neighbor and adult all round.

Three days later, Bo’s at piano practice when Tim comes round to ask if she’ll let him fix the torn screen on her back porch.

She laughs and tells him off for patronizing her and three minutes later she’s on her back on the living-room couch, skirt around her waist and Tim’s tongue licking a path up her inner thigh that has her panting and moaning in anticipation.

She comes twice before he lets her return the favor and she blows him in the kitchen, kneeling at his feet, relishing the heat and taste of him in her mouth, his muted groans when she urges him to climax, the way his fingers dig into her scalp when he spills in her mouth.

So much for being a responsible adult.

But he leaves with a smile on his face, and she’s more relaxed than she’s been for a long time, and less sure about what she should do. She can’t help but think that sometimes, it’s not just about right and wrong, desire and rejection, adult and teenager – it’s also about looking for love and comfort, and finding solace in another person, and that can’t be all bad.

It feels more like infinite shades of gray than just black and white.

She won’t let Tim fix the screen, though, and later that evening she nails it back with Bo’s help. It may be a small thing, but at the end of the day, a girl has to have _some_ principles.


End file.
